Not long after arriving in Bolivar, Rick had taken some time to see the House Boat he purchased on the internet. It looked lovely in the pictures, but at the price? Something had to be wrong. When Rick saw it, it was well, not exactly what the pictures looked like and the real estate agent he had bought it from had disappeared.

After going through the boat, he finds that many old possessions such as pots and pans, fishing rods and even old furniture were left behind. The bedroom even has a dingy old mattress with numerous stains, nothing Rick would want to sleep on.

When he moves the mattress, no doubt to toss it, he finds something under the bed.

Richard Stadler was regretting the choice in clothing at the moment. He certainly threw away the apperance of anything between functional and professional when his former house got blown up, but now he was thinking a polo shirt would be a better choice out here. Certainly, the tie he was wearing was already hanging loosely around his neck in the Maracaibo heat. Sleeves rolled up, about 20 seconds away from ditching the damn thing. But he'd take it off after he took a look at his... new home.

He really doesn't know why he purchased it. Maybe it was the price, the fact that he wanted a place to call his own other than a barracks room. The fact that being on the water was interesting, something he hadn't experienced since his family took out that last rental of a house on the Great Lakes, back in Michigan. But when he bought it, and saw it, he realized that at the very least, it would be nice to have a project. Cataloging everything that it had come with, seeing what to donate, what to keep, what to arrange. Maybe get Cecily to take a look at the engines, see if anything could be done. /Certainly/ get rid of this mil-dew stained mattress that probably had a thousand bed bug colonies-

Richard Stadler spent a few moments looking at the cocaine in the mattress itself. First instinct was to toss it... but that might be a bit of a bad idea. Five pounds was not exactly recreational. If the guy selling it was a dealer, then sure, dump the shit. But if had stolen it from someone... that someone was going to want it back, and probably wouldn't except the answer that the other guy had it. Which meant keeping it... for at least a few weeks. It's not as if he could put an ad out on Craigslist for it. He gingerly picked up the gun by the barrel, examining it, sniffing close to the action. And this... this could make him part of a murder investigation. But if it had been used in a crime, it was a clue. And try as Rick might, he had a /lot/ of time throwing away a functional firearm.

So, in the end, he put the mattress back down over the supplies there. Paused, and thought it out. First. See if he could do some digging on who sold this house boat. Second, see if the ballistics on that gun matched anything. Third... What the hell was he cgoing to do with that Cocaine? He was sure he could bribe a cop if it came down to it, but it was still illegal as shit. A week. A long, long week he'd keep it for, then dump the stuff in Lake Maraicabo and hope whatever Cartel that came for it would accept his answer... or that he could shoot faster than they could.

Fuck, this was a mess. But he could deal with messes. And look on the bright side: A week from now, and the city might be quarentined and the dead wandering about, with this houseboat in the middle of the lake and him starving to death. At least then he might still have the coke.

Not long after Rick had arrived at his boat, two dock workers in the employ of El Papa took notice of his arrival and made a phone call to their employer who told them to keep an eye on the American who was now living in Paco's boat.

Another set of phone calls was made after and no doubt, Rick could expect visitors at some point in the future....

...who would those visitors be and what would they want? Find out on Thursday!